


Graveyard Gifts

by anotherfirename



Category: Original Work
Genre: ...the genre not the show, Gen, POV First Person, Supernatural - Freeform, rated for a dash of torture and what is basically a moving corpse, two teenage boys spend a night in the graveyard and get far more than what they bargained for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:09:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28410687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherfirename/pseuds/anotherfirename
Summary: The only thing they said was to never go into the graveyard at night.





	1. The Start of a Bad Decision

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posting this from my tumblr for posterity.

“I don’t get it,” Mark says as we walk between the headstones. “It’s a little creepy, but since when were graveyards actually dangerous? Guess you can always fall flat on your face, but hell at least it’s quiet.”

“Vandals?” I suggest, but even I know it’s a dumb excuse. 

Mark shakes his head and pauses to brush dirt off the face of one of the headstones. 

“Nah,” he says. “There’s something else to this.” 

I adjust the bag slung over my shoulder before following him further into the graveyard. We’re both old enough to wander alone at night, our troublemaking being another thing entirely, but the graveyard is permanently off limits at night. No one is allowed in the graveyard at night, not that they really try to keep people out. The gate is locked right before the sun goes down, but it’s easy to climb and even easier if you have someone with you. And of course no one is around to catch you, because that would mean having someone in the graveyard at night. So Mark and I are alone among the dead as the day slowly ticks over into night. Well to their credit, Mark is right about them being quiet. 

“You brought the flashlights, right?” Mark asks over his shoulder. I raise an eyebrow in response and he laughs. “I was just checking.” 

It was his idea, but of course I’m the one carrying everything. He came up with it last week when he declared that we would spend the entire night in the graveyard. No one knows why we shouldn’t, and I sure as hell don’t remember ever being given reason. It’s just one of those things that’s engraved into everyone’s mind, and I think Mark is bored again. We put it off at first because of the rain, but tonight the skies are clear and the ground only damp instead of flooded. I wonder what the rot is like with all this water. 

“Doesn’t look like there’s anything to this,” I call ahead. “It’s as quiet as I thought it’d be.” 

“But there has to be something that’s got everyone scared,” Mark says as he stops to let me catch up. 

“Could just be old superstitions.” 

“Could be, but we’ll see about that.” 

We make our way to the back of the graveyard to reduce our chances of being caught come morning. Here we settle in among the older graves. Most of the headstones are mossy and cracked while others are lopsided from sinking into the ground, but some are still scrubbed clean with flowers laid before them. 

“You bring snacks?” Mark asks as I set down the duffel bag between us and start rummaging through it. 

“Course,” I say. “Jerky?” 

“You and your jerky. Alright, give it here.” 

I toss him an unopened package of beef jerky and he starts eating while I pull out the flashlights. It’s getting dark quickly, but I’m hoping our eyes will adjust. 

I watch Mark out of the corner of my eye as he tries mostly unsuccessfully to tear off a piece of jerky. He’s excited about this, the jackass. This small town isn’t enough for him, and he’s fond of making that point. Mark is trouble and even I, but he’s not the one who stabbed another guy in a fight. 

“I know you brought blankets,” Mark says as he continues to chew on his jerky. “Give it here.” 

I glare at him but oblige. 

“You’re welcome,” I say as he wraps himself in a worn blanket I dug out from under the old camping gear. 

Unlike Mark I thought ahead and wore a heavier jacket. I don’t care if he thinks he can talk his way out of anything. The weather’s not going to listen. 

“So how far away do you think Tiny Tina is by now?” Mark asks as he leans against one of the studier headstones. 

He shuffles over to give me a sliver of space when I sit down beside him. 

“If she heard you call her that she’d punch you,” I say. “Again. And we know where she is because she got that scholarship.” 

“I wish I could get a scholarship if it means getting out of this shit town.” 

“You’d probably get one if you ever showed up for class and didn’t get kicked out.” 

“Yeah? And what’s your excuse?” 

I don’t bother answering and instead drape a blanket over my legs. 

“Let’s leave,” Mark says, and not for the first time. “Not the graveyard. This entire town.” 

“Not until after graduation,” I say, also not for the first time. 

“Yours or mine?” 

“Yours.” 

“Now that’s the spirit.” 

The bats are out tonight. I can hear them squeaking as they swoop through the darkness. Some of them fly through the graveyard but none linger. I hope they hunt well. 

I pull the blanket up higher onto my body and lean back against the headstone. 

“Tired already?” Mark asks. 

“Not much to do,” I say. 

“You do realize that we’re here in the graveyard at night?” 

“You do realize that we’re here in the graveyard at night doing nothing but sit on wet grass?” 

“You take the fun out of everything. Fine. Sleep. I’ll wake you if something interesting happens.” 

I take that as permission to nod off so I close my eyes and hope that I can get some sleep. I still can hear the bats squeaking in the distance, and every so often Mark shifts beside me. Slowly, very slowly, I manage to drift off to sleep.


	2. Into the Dark

I jolt awake to a hissing in my ear, but when I try to sit up I only pull uselessly at clanking metal chains. Rusted cuffs dig into my ankles and wrists. I twist around in an attempt to see what’s going on around me, but all I can see are misshapen shadows shifting in dim candlelight. I try to call out, but my throat feels like sandpaper and for some reason I can’t say a word.

“Hush,” a rough voice croons into my ear as a clawed hand slowly drags down my cheek. 

I jerk away from the sound and the touch but the hand grabs my chin and holds me still. Bony fingers dig into face and neck, and I can feel the sting of claws breaking skin. 

“It will all be over soon,” another voice says. 

This one is not as harsh but carries a coldness that sends a jagged chill racing up my spine. The clawed hand remains in place, its owner still hidden in the shadows. Another figure leans over me and my heart lurches as she passes into the candle light. It looks like a woman, but her skin is rotten and dangling from white bone where it hasn’t been eaten away altogether. There is no more skin surrounding her eyes that are milky white and laced with ruptured blood vessels. I swallow the bile that rises in my throat as she reaches towards my face with a rotten hand. Her touch is cold and wet as she covers my eyes with her hand. Then disgust gives way to pain as it explodes in my skull and rips through my body. I can only scream and thrash in my chains and it feels like I’m being ripped to pieces. This continues long past the point when I can hear nothing but my screams echoing back at me and I can feel nothing but the pain. Then something new joins the pain, and I become aware of something clawing at my mind. I try to fight it, but I can’t. It drags me screaming down into the darkness.


	3. Aftermath

I jolt awake and immediately smash my head into a hard surface just inches from my face. I have no choice but to lay back down in the darkness only broken by a small sliver of light. This place is small, made of stone, and freezing cold. I have a bad feeling about this. My body still aches and my mouth tastes like vomit, but at least the pain has stopped. Except for in my hands. My hands burn and itch like acid is being poured across them. I reach up and press them against the cold stone above me. It alleviates the pain, but only barely. I try to push against what must be a stone slab, but it doesn’t even budge.

“Hey!” I call, my voice cracking and my throat so raw that my eyes start to tear up. 

“Tom!” returns Mark’s muffled voice, and I nearly sob with relief. 

“Here!” 

The slab starts to move in painstakingly small cracks as Mark heaves against. I try to reach up and push again but everything hurts too much. So I lay back and wait for Mark to create a gap large enough for me to fit through. 

“I think that should do it,” he gasps. 

I squint in the blinding morning light and climb out of the stone coffin with more desperation than grace. I fall to the ground and suck in breath of fresh air after breath of fresh air. My hands still burn so I clench them and unclench them, but it doesn’t help. I look up at Mark who leans against the coffin and catches his breath before laughing. 

“You look like shit,” he says. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” 

He reaches down to help me up, but when I take his hand the pain is replaced by an almost pleasant tingling and Mark jerks his hand away. 

“Fuck!” he shouts. 

I sit up and see him hunched and clutching the hand I grabbed. I look down at my own hands. Experimentally I move my fingers one at a time. Except for the pain nothing seems amiss. I look over at Mark again who is standing now, but he looks down at his own hand with shock. The skin is bright pink and stretched across his bones like he’s been burnt. 

“The fuck was that?” he asks like he’s trying to sound insulted, but he only succeeds at sounding afraid. 

“I don’t know,” I say as I slowly get to my feet. 

When I put my hands in my pockets I half expect my clothes to go up in flames. Mark stares at me before sighing and running a hand through his messy hair. 

“That’s one hell of a gift they gave you,” he says. 

“Gift?” I echo. 

Mark sighs again, but gentler this time. He looks up at the pale blue sky with a dreamy expression. 

“That’s what they gave me,” he says, “when the lady laid her hand on me.” 

“Hold on,” I say, and I want to raise a hand in emphasis but I decide against it. “What did you see?” 

“The dead of course. They were so beautiful. They said they gave me a gift of luck and it felt…amazing. I was touched by the dead, and it was better than anything I could’ve imagined.” 

I can’t help it. I start laughing and I can’t stop until well after I have to sit down again. 

“Tom,” Mark says hesitantly, but at least he doesn’t back away. 

“It’s nothing,” I say with more venom than I expected. “We just had different nights. That’s all. Let’s go.” 

Mark doesn’t say anything as I get to my feet again. He just nods and picks up our bag before leaving in silence. As we walk I can’t help but notice that Mark is staying further away from me than usual, sometimes walking off the path as if to avoid getting too close. Not that I blame him. What the hell happened to me? Whatever happened I do know one thing. I wasn’t touched by the dead. Instead I was torn apart and remade into something else. My hands won’t stop stinging, and I can’t shake the image of the rotting woman from my memory.


End file.
